


My dearest nemesis,

by sparrowshift



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: AU – Epistolary, AU – Historical, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Force antics, Is it Victorian? Is it Regency?, Literally just googled and copied “Regency Ball Invitation", No historical accuracy, Period Typical Attitudes, Sarcasm, Scholarly rivals to lovers, barely any plot, snarky embroidery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:16:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24417250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowshift/pseuds/sparrowshift
Summary: @reylo_promptsMiss Rey Johnson and Mr. Benjamin Solo hold opposing scholarly views of the Force and write sarcastic angry love letters to each other. Slowly, their correspondance becomes something more.Based off a prompt from @galacticidiots on Twitter:  "A historical AU where they start off as rivals who send each other passive aggressive letters that start with — “dearly detested” and “my loathsome love” and “my adored archenemy” and then get progressively sexier and nicer in tone as they get to know each other and fall in love"
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 124
Kudos: 369
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection, Reylo Prompt Fills (@reylo_prompts)





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/gifts).



> Because I can’t handle anything with a substantial plot right now, here’s a tiny project. Thanks to fran aka @galacticidiots on Twitter for the prompt, and to @reylo_prompts for retweeting the prompt. 
> 
> Here's the [original prompt.](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1260283532997529602)

My loathsome love, 

As my previous letters seemed to have been poorly received – “little understanding of the intricacies of Science,” “young ladies should stick to love letters,” etc. – I thought I’d open this missive in a way more agreeable to you. Perhaps now you will take me more seriously, Mr. Solo? 

Your latest article on the Force in the _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society_ contains several key errors _,_ my neglectful sweet. I have been a keen reader for many years, and frankly am astounded that such an esteemed publication would allow these mistakes to sully its pages. I have attached my annotations. Darling earthworm, I am sure you wish to issue a correction as soon as possible, lest your reputation turn to mud.

Your never-devoted flame,  
Miss Rey Johnson 

Dearly detested, 

The only “error” I have made is in moving away from the Jedi philosophy which has so dominated discourse these past years. Of course you would find faults: you read the article through the wrong lens, my pedantic pet. The article was held in high esteem by the _Society_ , hence its publication. Where can I read _your_ writings, Miss Johnson? Someone with such forthright opinions must surely have a book out on the subject. 

See my enclosed point-by-point rebuttal of your “annotations.” (With added sketches of little hearts, _really_? Hardly the work of a professional scholar, my acetic sweetheart.) 

Yours in loathing,  
Mr. Benjamin Solo

My darling ass, 

I’m afraid I could not help the little hearts, sir. I’m just _so_ young and your mistakes set my chest aflutter. Incidentally, since I am young and a woman, it does not take _your_ great genius to deduce why the _Society_ has yet to publish any of the thirty-six articles I’ve sent them since turning fourteen. So I am reduced to sending letters of correction to the authors, that I might improve the field in my own small way. 

See my point-by-point rebuttal of your point-by-point rebuttal. 

More broadly, your points lack _empirical_ evidence. To go against the Jedian view of the Force, which has decades of work behind it, cannot be so neatly done in a single paper. I am not against innovation – far from it, there are many Jedi theories I disagree with – but it must be based in observation of the universe as we know it. To put it simply: extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence. And there is nothing extraordinary in what you have written. In fact, even your general argument is not dissimilar to the work of Mr. Vader, long-since discredited and thoroughly deconstructed. 

Yours, pen quivering in anticipation,  
Miss Rey Johnson 

Dear predictable kitten, 

Of course Mr. Skywalker’s ward would call Vader “thoroughly deconstructed.” Are you spoon-fed all your opinions, my gullible sweetheart? He must have lost quite a few attack dogs of late, if you are the best he can send my way. 

Mr. Benjamin Solo

  
  


My fumbling darling, 

Ah, so you cannot attack the substance of my argument and must instead attack my character. I’m no longer your uncle’s ward, my inattentive love – though I held my own opinions far before reaching twenty-one. And I’m not writing to you on his behalf. He would probably be opposed to me reaching out to his wayward nephew. 

I admit I do edit Mr. Skywalker’s papers before they go out to publication. It’s a service I’m happy to provide, given his generosity in allowing me to live at the estate. But I assure you, Mr. Solo, I am completely unbiased in my assessment of _your_ work.  
  
Miss Rey Johnson

My adored archnemesis, 

So it’s worse than I thought – you came up with these opinions on your own! I suspect you do a bit more than “edit” Mr. Skywalker’s papers, given the substance of his last article in the _Society_ , which was clearly an attempt to quash any revival of Mr. Vader’s writings. I thought I recognized a few turns of phrases from your notes. 

It’s clear you think me an idiot, Miss Johnson. I don’t take advice from people directly opposed to everything my work stands for. Or from those that are clearly rivals in my fight to change the direction of Force scholarship. 

Yours in rivalry,  
Mr. Benjamin Solo. 

My hated dearheart, 

In that case, we have nothing else to say to each other. I’d express regret that our letters must cease, but I strive to be honest in all my communications. To wit: I loathe you. You’re arrogant and intransigent, though I first came to you in the spirit of scholarly debate. You’ve done nothing but vex me personally and revolt me philosophically. 

Fortunately, your estrangement with your family makes it unlikely that we shall ever have to speak in person. May we both rest easy in _that_ certainty. 

Your mutual enemy,  
Miss Rey Johnson 

* * *

Mother –

It has been a while since I visited the estate. I have urgent business in the area, which gives me the opportunity to rectify my neglect. You can expect me next Wednesday afternoon. 

Benjamin

* * *

My luminescent viper, 

I was impressed by your audacity in attempting to Force choke me next to the rose bushes. Losing your temper? Tsk, tsk. Such savagery is hardly befitting of a Jedi scholar. And I was Lady Leia’s personal guest, too!

As a token of my appreciation, please accept this bouquet of flowers.

B.S.

Dearest botanically-challenged bore, 

It is true, I do have my vices like any other woman, especially when smug snakes infest the shrubbery. I look forward to choking you again, darling, please call on Lady Leia more often. 

As for the bouquet: clearly, you think me an amateur when it comes to botany. Perhaps you assumed I am a mere vessel for your uncle's theories on the Force, with little interest in anything else but embroidery? I have access to the Skywalker library and delight in the botanical monographs. _Atropa belladonna_ , really? You could hardly expect me to _eat_ a flower arrangement, even if I thought it benign. Next time, _Heracleum mantegazzianum,_ which is caustic to the touch, would be more appropriate. 

In any case, I thank you, despite the feebleness of the gesture. Enjoy the enclosed candied pistachios. Lady Leia mentions you are allergic to nuts, but as you disdain for her opinion so often, I can only assume she must be mistaken. 

R.J.

Dear naive snowdrop, 

You have indeed been misinformed. In an effort to rid myself of all weakness, I spent years developing an immunity to nuts. The pistachios were delicious, thank you. 

I bear no delusions about your talent with a needle. With so much time spent on research, letters to scholars, and choking household guests, I expect your work must be very poor indeed. 

B.S.

My contemptible critic,

Here is a sampler so you may evaluate my needlepoint. I would not like to lower your esteem of the art of my sex. 

Ever devoted to the gentler crafts,  
R.J.

Dearest angelic nettle, 

Admittedly, I see my likeness in the piece. I particularly like the added tentacles, and the flames coming out of my body are enthusiastically rendered. But perhaps the metaphor is a bit tired? Am I really demonic to you? 

B.S.

Dear Lord of Darkness, 

I suppose you cannot be a demon. It is unlikely that a demon would spend so much time on scholarship, or that the Devil would take shape solely to torment me via correspondence. Your mother also seemed to delight in your visit despite your temperament, so you must have _some_ good qualities, as difficult as they are for me to see. Perhaps maternal love has blinded her? 

At any rate, I didn’t see any horns on your head, or eternal flames in your countenance. So you must be a man, as much as I loathe to admit it. 

R.J. 

My astute Mother Superior, 

You’ve caught me; I’m all together mortal, must to my chagrin. And as I’m mortal, I’m particularly susceptible to scholarly criticism. In an effort to predict the more idiotic replies to my latest work in advance, I've begun to work through a few of the volumes you referenced in your annotations. I had read most of them, of course, but had missed a few of the more ancient texts. 

See enclosed a list of books I recommend you read in turn – some of them Mr. Vader's less-known works you seem to have missed. (Does the very concept enrage you, my exacting wasp? Please say it does.)

B.S.

P.S. I've enclosed a vial of poison and a bottle of ink. The poison is in case my recommendations drive you to madness. The ink is in case they send you into a flurry of treatise-writing. 

Dearest manipulative menace, 

It will take more than a few papers to drive me to madness, though I may come close to the brink. Nothing can be as bad as Mr. Hux’s most recent book, which was exceedingly boring and derivative, with circular reasoning toward little end. It was almost impossible to finish. I had little heart to write a correction so obvious. At least with your writings, my dearest rival, I can expect some meat on the bones. 

Do not expect a reply once I read your recommendations (though I will read them, if only to better understand my rival’s position). 

R.J. 

My blazing lioness, 

On Mr. Hux: for once we are in total agreement. 

B.S. 

* * *

PLEASURE BALL  
M _iss_ _Rey Johnson_  
Is Requested to attend the BALL,  
At Mr. Dameron’s Yavin Hall, on Tuesday,  
30 of May Current, at 5 o’clock pm

PLEASURE BALL  
M _r Benjamin Solo_  
Is Requested to attend the BALL,  
At Mr. Dameron’s Yavin Hall, on Tuesday,  
30 of May Current, at 5 o’clock pm

* * *

Dear large, impassive tree,

I have found your weakness, though I admit it perplexes me. How could a man devoting years towards overcoming his nut allergy not spare some time to learn to dance? If you mean to gain allies to your cause, sir, it will do you no good to glare whenever anyone dares suggest you join the cotillon – particularly when there are so few gentlemen and so many ladies in attendance. Perhaps you mean to be intimidating by doing an impression of a thousand-year oak? A few steps would surely be no great burden to you. I recall you being fleet of foot in the garden. 

R.J.

Dear fussy warbler, 

We can’t all glitter and make eyes at Mr. Dameron all night. Shall I expect you to announce your engagement soon? Perhaps you will bless society with six self-righteous children, all prone to reckless stunts of horsemanship? 

Your mind tricks could use practice, by the way. I may be an oak, but I could feel you boring away at me with all of the elegance of an impatient woodpecker. I’ll not reveal the status of my latest research so easily. 

B.S.

P.S. I am, in fact, capable of dancing. A regular regimen of the art improves my combat readiness. But it so happens only one woman could tempt me that night, and she appeared to be otherwise occupied.

  
Dear dancing debutante, 

Mr. Dameron is a dear friend – I was engaging in pleasant conversation, though _that_ concept is outside your conceiving. And if you must know, I plan on never marrying. I cannot see how it would be good for me to do so. A husband would no doubt come between me and the Force, which demands a passionless and rational life. And most men would not approve of my Force antics. Even Mr. Dameron values sweetness and discretion in a wife, frankly traits I do not care to possess. 

You must have very low esteem for women if “only one” could tempt you. Though frankly, I’m sceptical that any woman would have refused you. Your “broad shoulders” and “smouldering gaze” were quite the sensation. I’m sure Miss Netal would be eager to dance next time, if only you would ask. 

R.J.

P.S. ‘Fussy warbler’??

Dear cherub of rationality, 

“Passionless and rational” – you never fail to stir up my blood with your words, darling. Thank the Force for the Jedi philosophers, or we’d all be running around recklessly forming happy unions. I think you struggle to practice what you preach, however. Otherwise you would be capable of “sweetness and discretion,” instead of furiously scribbling a hurricane of letters at an ill-placed datum in the _Society_. 

So instead of marriage, I assume you’ll stay holed up in Mr. Skywalker’s library? Perhaps occasionally emerging to haunt young maidens prone to fits of romance? 

B.S.

P.S. “Most men” are fools. 

P.P.S. Do you really think my shoulders are broad? 

Dear narcissistic fisherman,

I’m not expressing an opinion either way regarding your frame. I only transcribe the opinions of those around me. Most say you are a handsome man, though unconventionally so. 

And there’s no need to play coy. Everyone knows you’ll inherit the estate after Mr. Skywalker passes, thanks to your grandfather’s entail. I daresay I’ll be at your mercy. Which, given our volatile relationship, means the streets for poor Miss Johnson. And all this despite me clearly throwing myself at your feet! I’ve been the picture of innocence and charm, sir. Kitten-like, they’d say. 

R.J. 

P.S. You won’t convert me to your Force views with a single witty phrase. Affection and friendship can certainly live side-by-side with the Force, but passion only grows wild and dangerous. 

Dearest wolfish lamb, 

I promise to behave and cease my conversion efforts. I won’t even mention the great power you can obtain through passionate anger. I also won’t say that if you channeled it appropriately, Miss Johnson, you could perhaps topple me yet. 

Regarding the entail: making you grovel does seem like a fine diversion. But I also enjoy my tea, and would prefer not to check every cup for poison for the rest of my life. And a taster would be far too expensive, not to mention a task to hire. I have never seen an advertisement for one. 

So I’m ‘handsome,’ eh? But what do ‘people’ say of my character? Surely they would not think me the sort of man to dump a kitten on the side of the road. 

B.S.

Darling kitten-dumper, 

Oh, they don’t go so far in their analysis. “A touch aloof” is the consensus, with a bit of a temper. They say you could stand to smile more. I should have suggested they try to Force choke you. Goodness knows why, but that seemed to amuse you. I think you are a bit of a masochist, Mr. Solo. That would also explain why you keep writing letters to your enemy. 

R.J.

My intemperate dove, 

I would not keep writing if you did not keep sending replies. I sense you are similarly overwhelmed with sweet hatred and cannot resist. At any rate, knowing my enemy puts me in a position of strength. 

As more evidence of my masochism – I have accepted my mother’s invitation to picnic next Thursday. Should I bring a weapon lest you be lurking behind the pigeon pies waiting to stab me? 

B.

My condemned darling,

I would hardly be a good archnemesis if I revealed all my secrets. 

R.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References
> 
> [Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society _  
> _](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philosophical_Transactions_of_the_Royal_Society)[_Atropa belladonna_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atropa_belladonna)– deadly nightshade, poisonous when ingested _  
> _[ _Heracleum mantegazzianum_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heracleum_mantegazzianum) – giant hogweed, leaves blisters on the skin  
> [entail inheritance](https://candicehern.com/regency-world/glossary/entail/)  
> [The age of majority was 21 until 1970, who’d have thunk?](https://reginajeffers.blog/2019/05/03/question-of-the-age-of-consent-in-the-regency-period/)


	2. 2

Dearest Don Juan, 

I see you’ve taken my advice and cosied up to Miss Netal. I’m glad you’re capable of growth, though perhaps your character didn’t need to be _quite_ so improved. Your flirtations were enough to make me lose my lunch, dear shameless bird of paradise. 

But I will concede that the rest of the company found you uncharacteristically amiable. Lady Leia seems cheered by your renewed interest in the estate. 

R.

Dear morally-sensitive gourmand, 

I doubt anything could make you lose your lunch, my little Venus flytrap. If anything, you attacked that roast chicken with renewed savagery – a feat I hardly thought possible, given your already ravenous appetite. 

You misunderstand my intentions with Miss Netal. When one’s nemesis is near, I find it prudent to keep a body nearby to use as a shield. Your glare was positively scorching, my fiery hedgehog. Perhaps you saw through my clever ruse? Clearly, you did not have the nerve to put the knife through an innocent. Do I find another flaw in the legendary Jedi detachment? 

Then again, you don’t need weapons to kill. You must have some other sinister design. Perhaps you will literally drown me in correspondence as a warning to others. The _Society_ will find me mummified within several layers of precise notes. 

B.

P.S. I grow increasingly fond of the estate. 

My cunning Egyptologist, 

Did Miss Netal know of her purpose as a shield, I wonder? She was practically crawling into your lap. 

I’ve concluded it would be poor form to kill you. Firstly, Lady Leia and Mr. Skywalker seem to care for you. I would not betray their generosity to me. Secondly, if I am to be taken seriously as a scholar, I should use the pen rather than the Force to topple my rivals. 

Finally, you would take far too much pleasure in the mummification process. While tempting, such violence would be extremely non-Jedian. Your glee at my conversion would sap all the pleasure from the vanquishing. 

No, I’m afraid you must bear my letters without the sweet release of death. 

R. 

P.S. Yes, the estate’s hedges _are_ rather shapely. 

Dear merciful moonbeam, 

Well, Goddess of Logic, if you have decided not to kill me, I trust that there is no other rational choice for us. As you know, I always defer to your superior judgement in all things. For instance, I am considering redecorating in the striking reds and blacks of your needlepoint. You have excellent taste in demonic interiors. 

But I’ve had a _ghastly_ thought – do you have other rivals? In your earlier correspondence, you referenced other letters of correction. Now that you have judged me ‘not worth killing,’ I fear some other soul may become the object of your scintillating hatred. The concept sends chills straight to my heart, dearest. 

To restore the fires of your loathing, I have enclosed a draft of my latest paper. 

(Don’t fret over Miss Netal, sweetness. She is very satisfied indeed with our arrangement.)

B. 

P.S. My theory on the origins of Jedi philosophy: it all comes from a repressed lust for the estate's hedges.

Dear topiary fetishist, 

I admit your writing improves. I can see the influence of Mr. Vader’s later work, which I read on your recommendation. It was much more engrossing than his more popular volumes, and I confess I was intrigued by the unrealized possibilities of his approach.

Nevertheless, see my enclosed notes. 

Be assured, like any besotted maiden I keep your letters under my pillow. Please cease writing them, sir. My slumber has been much disturbed by their mass. 

(In truth: I have sent correspondence to nearly every Force scholar, unless their work is too boring to correct. As evidence of my letters’ receipt, the scholar’s subsequent publications reflect my suggestions. 

But you were the first author foolish enough to reply.)

R. 

P.S. Empirical evidence for your Jedi-hedge theory: Mr. Skywalker is _suspiciously_ devoted to their maintenance. 

My most faithful nemesis, 

Please, do not toss fitfully in your sleep on my behalf! (I will endeavour to increase the length and frequency of my correspondence.)

So you’ve single-handedly influenced every branch of Force scholarship without a line of credit. I may be a villain, but I cannot support academic fraud. Perhaps we should take the journal’s offices by force? If you do not wish to sully your delicate writing-hand, I would be honoured to wield the knife. Those unimaginative fools have plagued me for years. 

But as usual, dear erudite vixen, you have left me at a disadvantage. You have dissected my work twice now, but I have not had the opportunity to thoroughly mangle yours. 

B. 

My bloodthirsty champion, 

Your interest in my work astonishes me — I thought I was too young and philosophically rigid to have anything of interest to say? Refusing to submit to editorial review would make me a hypocrite, however. I’ve enclosed a few observations I have begun to flesh out more thoroughly. Please dissect away. 

While I appreciate the offer to storm the _Society’s_ offices, my vengeful yew, I’m afraid that would not satisfy me. I want my work to be taken seriously in its own right. 

Lady Leia mentions you are coming for dinner next Wednesday. You are a most scrupulous heir, darling. Does the estate require inspection so frequently? 

R. 

My innocent rosebud, 

Many things can affect the integrity of the foundations or grounds, and these may strike at a moment’s notice. Termites. Mould. Very heavy rains. Ladies with the power to fling furniture across the room. Vigilance is a virtue.

Judging by the volume of your writings, dearest, your paper purchases must sustain an entire paper mill. I’ve attached the dissection you requested. I _strongly_ disapprove of the very Jedian stance you take in section 2. But I suspect my stubborn sunshine will not be dissuaded from her argument, and I _can_ see its merits. And your observations on the potential microbial origins of Force-sensitivity are remarkable. 

B. 

Dear stoic woodcock, 

I've managed to bore you. This may have been inevitable, since I can no longer fulfill your masochistic desire to be killed. But were my papers so long and laborious you could barely speak to me at dinner? I was on my best behaviour, if only for your mother and uncle's sake. Since you found my manners so savage at the picnic, I even contorted my eating to please you. 

But I've not been idle since you remarked on my poor mind tricks, dearest fault-finder. Something troubled the edge of your mind. I will get an answer from you. Perhaps on your next visit to ensure the estate has not collapsed into a sinkhole? I have sensed several earthquakes since your visit. Please advise. 

R. 

My charming kestrel, 

In truth, I find it difficult to converse in such an intimate setting. The words flow freely when I write to you. But your presence of late has a stupefying effect on my tongue. You must teach me that particular Force technique, my clever tulip. As for the earthquakes: perhaps you should consider stepping more delicately. 

On a more scholarly note: I have been reviewing your writings, and reviewing my own paper. And letting my disdain for the _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society_ flourish beautifully. Force scholarship needs to transcend the journal’s petty debates entirely. We need a synthesis between the views of rationality and the views of passion -- a point which you yourself approached cautiously in your latest writings. 

What better pair than two sworn enemies to write such a treatise? With our opposing views, we will be able to fend off any critics. Unless your hatred of me prohibits collaboration. 

Should you accept, my only request is that we publish under your name, and that you do not hide behind Mr. Skywalker. I may not come out of the process with my face or pride intact. But as you know, my darling, I am relentless in my quest for Science. 

B. 

P.S. I did notice your interesting way of eating post-dinner cherries. Is that also a Jedi technique? 

Dearest future co-author, 

If conversation is difficult in person, perhaps we should practice more. Bring cherries. 

R. 

P.S. Your face will stay intact. I cannot quite bring myself to hate you. 

* * *

_A few weeks later_

Dearest Miss Johnson, 

Now that our treatise is off to the printers, I suppose our correspondence must slow. But I admit I miss your sharp tongue, my lovely ermine. In short: my mind turns to a synthesis of a more personal sort. 

I understand you never wanted to enter such an arrangement, but I have given some thought to accommodations. For instance, if I disturb your meditation, perhaps we could build a structure on the grounds specifically suited to it? In fact, marriage _itself_ would not be strictly necessary if you find it against your moral code. And you could still haunt the library to your heart’s content. The nearby cold lake should serve to cool passions should they become too ardent for you. I only wish to be near you most days, for as long as you’ll have me. 

My cherished one, will you be my companion? 

Your devoted,  
Ben

* * *

TWO LETTERS, UNSENT

~~Dear handsome asp,~~ ~~Dear ardent foe,~~ ~~My love,~~ Dear Mr. Solo, 

~~I suppose you must follow the old adage and keep your friends close, but your enemies~~

~~I see you have come up with a new way to needle~~

~~I will relay your letter to the topiary, no doubt the intended recipient~~

~~Is it the latest fashion for ladies to accept paper proposals, I wonder?~~

~~_Please_ say you do not jest. These past weeks I have felt ~~

~~How I wish it could be so, but I fear~~

~~How dare~~

~~Do not take me for~~

~~Why~~

What of your relationship with Miss Netal?

~~Your similarly-devoted,~~

~~Ever your nemesis,~~

Cordially,  
Miss Rey Johnson 

My love, 

~~Perhaps you did not receive my last letter, those fiendish mail-coaches are notoriously~~

~~If you cannot reciprocate my feelings then at least have the decency to~~

~~Did you find Mr. Hux’s last publication as loathsome as~~

~~I’ve discovered another avenue for further collaboration~~

~~Is Mr. Dameron~~

~~I had a dream last night~~

~~Your freckles~~

~~When we were beside the rose bushes~~

~~I worship you~~

~~Please let me worship you~~

Idiot self, why do you keep writing _letters_? You should go to

* * *

A SCENE

He has ridden for hours without rest, sustained by the thought of _her_ . He has no idea of what he’ll do when he arrives -- demand a response? Challenge her? _Kiss_ her? She clearly thought little of his proposal, if she could not even deign to reply. He should stop visiting the estate, find some way to break the entail so his uncle can leave the estate to her. Anything so she can be free of her nemesis.

But as always, he’s drawn to her like an animal to water in the desert. And so he rides. 

He came for her. But seeing her at the edge of the lake, standing away from him under a massive oak, is still a shock. He expected to stride through the hall, demanding to see her. But instead she stands _there_ , tiny and impossible beneath the trunk, and he hesitates. He dismounts, ties up the horse to a nearby tree. He approaches cautiously. 

A light rain is falling. 

She turns as he approaches, hair wreathed with droplets, and he struggles not to fall to his knees at the sight. But instead, he just bobs his head like a fool. “Miss Johnson.” 

“Mr. Solo,” she acknowledges coolly. Of course he would come. She could feel him before she heard his footsteps. How can she _always_ feel him? Almost as if his large frame expands outside his body, reaching toward her. She almost finds it comforting, despite her better judgement. 

“Did you — did you receive my letter?”

“I did. It was most diverting.” Her tone is light, but guarded. 

His dark brows furrow. “Diverti– ?” 

“Yes, Mr. Solo. We do enjoy our banter, do we not?” She gives him a quick, tight smile, then turns away. 

Probing would be poor form, but he cannot help himself. His mind reaches out to hers. She has built up a firm wall, but some vast emotion creates a hairline fissure in her defenses. A single thought slips out – 

“You do not believe me,” he realizes. “Miss Johnson –” He steps toward her, but is suddenly pushed back by an invisible force. And she is no longer smiling, but instead blazing as she turns on him, her skirt swishing through the wet turf. 

“I thought you saw me as an _equal_ !” She spits out, face pale with anger. “You were the first to take me seriously as a scholar, you talked to me about matters I cared about, you respected me enough to call me your _nemesis_ , which is better than I’ve gotten from any man – I had grown fond of the term, even – you’ll laugh – but _nemesis_ suggested intimacy, however twisted – “ 

“Miss Johnson – ” 

“But now you mock me!” Her shoulders begin to tremble, but her hazel eyes stay defiant. “I write of rationality, but I am _not_ without passion, whatever you may think. I have _feelings_ , and a soul! How dare you toy with me by extending a false proposal, when I l– I lo– “ 

She breaks off, so overwhelmed she cannot get the words out. The rain has begun to pick up, turning from a light misting to fat drops that run down her throat, his forearms. 

“ _Rey_. Your sentence. How does it finish?” His voice is so soft she can barely hear him over the rain. 

“Don’t make me say it, you _bastard_ ,” she cries. “Not after you –”

“Then I’ll say it for us both. I love you.” Her heart leaps to her throat. And the _look_ his dark eyes give her! Heat pools in her stomach. She can almost believe him. 

But still she hesitates. “And Miss Netal?” 

He waves his hand impatiently. “I'm sorry, I never should have played games with you. But Miss Netal was never interested in me, nor I in her. I believe we both got what we wanted: in her case, to arouse the jealousy of Miss Phasma; in my case, to arouse yours.” 

“Oh." Her voice is small. " _Oh_.” 

“Say you’ll marry me. Or be my partner, my companion. I meant what I said in my letter – I’ll have you any way you’re willing to give, Rey.” His hands are shaking, and not from the rain. 

“But _me_ ?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Mr. Solo: you’re the heir to an estate, an esteemed scholar from a line of esteemed scholars. I’m a former ward, a future spinster. Someone who’s lived entirely through dusty books. I’m _nothing_.” 

“You’re not _nothing_ to me,” he says hoarsely, reaching out in desperation. “You’re glorious, and a genius. _My archnemesis_. The only person good enough to earn that title – ” 

And then her Force shield falls completely, _she’s_ the one moving toward him now, not a step but a great rush, and suddenly their lips are crashing together, a thunderclap, and the rain, the rain – 

It’s a fumbling thing, this first kiss. Fervor makes them clumsy, but he still manages to support her with one hand as the other frantically runs across her back, her hair, anything he can reach. She has his arms wrapped around his neck, kissing hard enough to bruise as her mouth opens to him. 

Each brushing of skin-on-skin is exquisite, almost painful with desire. The Force comes alive. It amplifies everything: rain hitting the lake, the smell of wet moss, their minds rushing forward to the future — her dress coming off, then her petticoat, his trousers — freckles on her shoulder — his pale torso — her little gasps, his moans — _mine, mine_ — the slickness between them, a burst of pleasure and light. He cannot tell whether the fantasy is hers or his own, so intimately are they bound together. 

She pulls back. 

“Rey – " he breathes out, an unspoken question held at the edge of his mind. She has never looked so fierce, or so beautiful. 

“I love you too, Ben,” she glows, then gives him a sly look through her lashes. “But I’ll want to keep my surname for the purposes of publication. When we’re married.” 

And the Force sings. 

* * *

A SERIES OF NOTES

_(Inside a book)_

My dearest sycamore – do not bother with this one. On the whole, it is a derivative waste of linen. If you _must_ ignore my warning, I’ve added sketches of little hearts and inline corrections to ease your passage. 

_(Hidden under a breakfast roll)_

My scavenging turtledove – I thought you'd be more agreeable to my edits to our manuscript if plied with food. A mouth full of bread and jam _does_ make it harder for you to argue. 

_(Tied to a suspicious flower arrangement)_

This hemlock in bloom reminded me of you, my darling husband. Chiefly, your love of ineffectual assassination bouquets. (Forgive my smart mouth. I am summarily against _most_ of your edits.)  
  


_(On a pile of unfinished manuscripts)_

I can think of various uses for your smart mouth. Come upstairs, my wife, my beloved nemesis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **References**  
> [Don Juan](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Don_Juan)  
> [Regency paper](https://regencyredingote.wordpress.com/2009/08/21/parchment-is-not-paper/)
> 
> Thanks for all the comments and kudos! This little two-shot was a blast to write, so I’m glad some of you also found it fun to read. 
> 
> (Meanwhile, in this low-stakes universe, Leia and Luke are just in the background like: “The youngsters were really making a big deal out of Force publications. Were they talking about _assassinating_ each other? Over the _Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society_? Good Lord. Well, glad they worked it out and Ben is talking to us again. Nice that Rey joined the family officially. Maybe someday we’ll stop tripping over little notes.” *both shrug*)
> 
> **Other fic stuff**  
>  I’m writing another [shortish fantasy/historical AU where mysterious gentleman Ben hires Rey as a Force-sensitive governess for his children, who no one can handle because they can manipulate minds and levitate objects.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939709/chapters/60362803) Basically a combo of _Jane Eyre_ , _Mary Poppins_ , Kevin Wilson's _Nothing to See Here_ , and one of those canonverse AUs where Rey becomes Ben’s apprentice/padawan. 
> 
> I’m also @sparrowshift on Twitter. (I basically just use the account to bookmark tweet fics and prompts, but I guess that could change.)
> 
> **On a more serious note:**  
>  If you can afford it, please consider donating to a bail fund for arrested protestors in your area. Here’s [a list](https://bailfunds.github.io/). If you cannot protest in person, remember that COVID19 has forced many cities to hold virtual meetings. Your local BLM organization should have more info on how you can best help your community. 


End file.
